


Warm Foothills

by verbaepulchellae



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Body Image Dysmorphia, Cis Clarke, Domesticity, Established Relationship, F/M, FTM Bellamy, Fingering, Healthy Discussions of boundaries, Identity Affirming Sex, Life Affirming Sex, Oral Sex, Transgender Bellamy, a lot of hugging, so much hugging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 14:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7272445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaepulchellae/pseuds/verbaepulchellae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His internalized shame is so bad that in the year they’ve been together, Bellamy hasn’t ever been able to let Clarke see him fully naked, let her touch him there, between his legs and make him feel good. He packs, and loves when Clarke feels up his dick through his jeans; he's got boxers and briefs that double as harnesses for his cock- a gorgeous, dual density silicone one that's the same lovely caramel tone as his skin- and Clarke has never loved a cock more than she loves Bellamy’s. It's got the perfect curve to it, feels so good when he fucks her, but while Bellamy gets Clarke off in every way he can think of, he can't bring himself to let her return the favor.</p>
<p>So, they work on it.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>**</p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="center">
    <p><br/>Winner of Best Hurt/Comfort Fiction for the 2016 Bellarke Fanfiction Awards.</p>
  </div>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Foothills

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Thank you to all who voted for Warm Foothills in the Bellarke FanFiction Awards 2016! This fic actually mean quite a lot to me, and I'm so honored and grateful that it was recognized in such a wonderful way. Thank you <3
> 
> Thank you to the awesome cetaprincipessa and raincityruckus for their beta work!
> 
> This work deals with the experience of body dysmorphia and shame, and if that is at all triggering for any readers, I would recommend proceeding carefully!

She meets him for the first time at Octavia’s birthday party. 

Clarke gets there late, exhausted from a day at the hospital but happy to spend a night with her friend, so she’s probably more annoyed than she should be about the guy, ruggedly good looking but obnoxiously loud, whose splayed thighs are taking up more than his fair share of the couch in the tiny, cramped living room.

“Oh,” Octavia laughs, following Clarke's gaze. “My brother. We had thought he would outgrow the habit of trying to out- Alpha Male everyone in the room by now but,” she clinks her wine glass against Clarke's with a wry smile. “Here's to hoping.”

Bellamy laughs loud and deep and carrying at that moment and Clarke raises her eyebrow. “He seems charming.”

“He grows on you,” Octavia admits, a smile touching her lips as she watches Bellamy. “He's a good guy. You'd like him, I think. If you gave him a chance.” Which is surprising on its own because Octavia tends to despair about Clarke making friends overall, so Clarke's interest is admittedly piqued.

To be fair, they argue for the first forty-five minutes. Clarke leans back against the doorsill of the living room, emphatically shaking her head in counterpoint to Bellamy's crossed arms and jutting jaw. Bellamy tops off both their wine glasses as they do, repeatedly, and Clarke doesn't know if she's flushed from the alcohol, frustration or attraction. 

Turns out it's a mix of all three, but mostly attraction. They make out in the dim building stairwell, Bellamy crowding Clarke into the wall, his hand cupping her face and thumb smoothing across her cheek.

“Um,” he interrupts them when they stumble back into Clarke’s apartment door, another thirty minutes later, half way across the city and hands already familiar with each other. Clarke’s lips are swollen from his biting, her lipstick smeared across his mouth, his neck, his collarbone. “Hold on, just…” He flutters his fingers across her shoulder and takes a careful step back. “I'm trans. I don't know if that's a deal breaker for you.”

Clarke squints up at him, trying to figure out why exactly he's stopped kissing when all she wants is mouth back against hers, but then she hears the anxiety in his voice, sees the way his expression looks practiced, overly casual, and she curls her fingers around his neck, wants to soothe the concerned crease of his brow.

“Ok,” she says as she tugs him back to her mouth and bites his lower lip. “I wake up for the gym at seven. I don't know if that's a deal breaker for you spending the night.”

His smile is a mix of relief and amusement and his kisses are deep and all consuming. He makes her come three times with his lips and fingers, rubs himself off under his boxers while Clarke kisses him and walks her fingers over his chest, making him groan. He promises her the next time they do this, he'll give her his cock.

He makes good on that promise the next time, and the next, and then they go out to dinner, then they stay up all night talking. They take a weekend away together, attend a family wedding, have their first fight, break up for forty-eight hours and end up clinging to one another in the middle of the sidewalk halfway between their apartments. They leave clothes and make up and work boots in each other's apartments, move in together. They fit the pieces of their lives together and fight to make it work, because that's what you do when you're in love, even when it's not easy. And as much as Bellamy's gender is part of who he is, it becomes part of the fabric of their relationship as well.

‘Cause yeah, she and Bellamy have talked about it, it’s not the hushed secret some people seem to think it is when they find out and their voices falter. It's a big part of Bellamy’s past and who he is. He's told Clarke about the painful years of his scrappy childhood, of chest binding and baggy clothing, of people calling him “Isabella” before he came out and after still. Of his mother’s boyfriends trying to force him to be more feminine.

He tells her the sweeter moments too, how Octavia helped him choose his name and how his mother hugged him tightly when he finally worked up the courage to tell her; how after years of odd looks, avoiding mirrors and feeling like he had to aggressively over compensate for any perceived femininity, people finally recognizing him for his true gender without him having to come out to them had made him cry for the first time in years. 

Clarke knows that as much as he tries to focus on the good aspects, all the people in his life who see him for who he is, Bellamy carries the scars of his past. The worst of which are his dysmorphia and dysphoria about his cunt. He's had top surgery done, it was as much as he could afford to scrape together after years of saving for it in college. But even before helping to pay for Octavia's education and his mother’s funeral and burial costs, getting reconstruction surgery has been out of the question on his current wages.

His internalized shame is so bad that in the year they’ve been together, Bellamy hasn’t ever been able to let Clarke see him fully naked, let her touch him there, between his legs and make him feel good. He packs, and loves when Clarke feels up his dick through his jeans; he's got boxers and briefs that double as harnesses for his cock- a gorgeous, dual density silicone one that's the same lovely caramel tone as his skin- and Clarke has never loved a cock more than she loves Bellamy’s. It's got the perfect curve to it, feels so good when he fucks her, but while Bellamy gets Clarke off in every way he can think of, he can't bring himself to let her return the favor. 

“It's not me,” Bellamy whispered one night in the dark early on in their relationship when Clarke had teased her fingers under the waistband of Bellamy's briefs and he had gone rigid, caught her hand and pulled it back up to cradle against his chest. “What’s there. It's not me. It's not how I want you to see me, Clarke.” He’d sounded so broken, so afraid, that Clarke pulled him to her and held him close, her words failing her in that moment because she couldn’t imagine feeling so disconnected from her body the way Bellamy does from his cunt. 

It’s not always easy. Clarke’s own natural comfort in her body makes it hard for her to understand the way Bellamy can’t relate to his own, even as she conceptually understands. It’s a source of tension between them, when they first move in together, if only because Clarke so desperately wants Bellamy to let her in, to have Bellamy understand that regardless of how his body looks, Clarke knows Bellamy is a man. 

Clarke’s dated guys, girls, people who identify as neither, and Bellamy has effectively become her definition of masculinity: the way he smells, like the leather of his jackets and his sharp cologne, the lingering smell of beer and rum from the bar. The way he holds her, big arms wrapped around her, strong from hours at the gym and testosterone therapy. His laugh, deep and carrying; his voice, rough and low and the best thing Clarke can think to hear after a bad day at the hospital; just everything _Bellamy_ is masculine to Clarke because that's who he is. The fact that he happens to have been born with a cunt doesn’t change that fact in Clarke’s mind. 

They work hard. They talk about the things that come up between them, the little ways they unintentionally hurt each other. Clarke has always been in the habit of lounging around their apartment in very little. She's more likely to come out the bathroom naked than with a towel because Bellamy's eyes always go dark at the sight, it makes her feel sexy, loved. Bellamy has always brought his boxers into the bathroom with him, always showers with the door locked. It hurts Clarke at first, that he didn't trust her to respect his privacy but Bellamy had shaken his head, put his face in his hand when Clarke had brought it up, exhausted by his own insecurities hurting them.

“I can't pack in the shower. It's not you, babe, it's just the only way I feel comfortable.”

For all that they struggle at times, get angry, cry, yell, Clarke has never felt more complete in a relationship. Bellamy gets her like no one else. He's hard headed and stubborn just like she is, but he knows to be soft with her when others see her tenacity as a challenge. Bellamy can meet her toe to toe and push her to reevaluate when he thinks she's being an idiot about her friends or his sister, but he's also supported her through tough conversations with her mom and bad days when Clarke wanted to give up medicine and the hospital administration reform all together. He's the only person Clarke as ever felt truly like herself around.

And the sex... Clarke has never been so hungry for someone in her life. Just the sight of his eyes on her when she gets dressed, or his hand on the back of her neck, affectionate when they’re out with friends has her aching for him. There’s barely a day that passes that doesn’t see Bellamy slipping his tongue, his fingers, his cock, into her, greedy and possessive about her body pressed up against his. And that’s where she yearns for him: she wants so badly to treat Bellamy to the same overwhelming feeling he gives her when he makes her come with his intimate knowledge of who she is. 

It's not that Bellamy doesn't get off, hardly. It depends of course, on his mood, about how bad the degree of his body dysmorphia is affecting him from day to day: sometimes he just wants to take care of Clarke and see her come more than anything else. But when he's game, he's got a nice silicone vibrator he slips into his harnesses that presses against him just right as he fucks her, and Clarke has spent hours blowing him, laving her tongue across the head of Bellamy's cock and working it into the back of her throat while Bellamy watches her, flushed with the visual of it and rubbing himself off underneath his cock. Clarke loves it, loves that the sight of her lips or her cunt around his cock makes Bellamy crazy, loves that he gets growly and handsy, that he tells her dirtyhot things about how good she is to him, how beautiful. 

But Clarke's greedy. When Bellamy pulls his fingers out of his boxers, wet and shiny with his arousal, Clarke can't think of anything but tasting him, licking him clean the way she does after he’s fingered her. But Bellamy's always too fast, distracts her with kisses as he fumbles for a tissue. She tries a few times, ducks her head and sticks her tongue out, tricks she uses that always make him groan and give her his fingers to suck on when he's pulled them dripping from her cunt, but it never works. 

“You don't want that, babe,” he murmurs to her, tries to refocus her elsewhere, and Clarke complies because his distractions are always good. But the truth is, she does want it. She wants all of Bellamy, wants to love every gorgeous part of him, even the parts of him that he doesn't love himself. Even with everything they have, knowing Bellamy gets off being with her, she wants to be directly responsible for making him come, to cover herself in his smell and the feel of his bare body. 

It’s a delicate matter, though, and Clarke has to struggle to frame her desires to make him feel good in the context of Bellamy's comforts with his own body. It's not easy, and she tries not to feel guilty or push Bellamy for more than he wants to give her, because rising to the top of Clarke's life goals in the past year has been making Bellamy Blake happy.

It finally comes up one afternoon, as Clarke watches Bellamy cook them a ridiculously late breakfast after spending the morning in bed. He's got his shirt off, just a pair of low slung jeans hugging his ass to make him decent, and he's swaying unselfconsciously to the cheesy music she's put on. He looks so carefree, so happy and comfortable in his own skin as he licks waffle batter off the spoon when he thinks Clarke isn’t watching that Clarke can't help herself. She slips across the cool linoleum of their kitchen floor and loops her arms around his chest, rests her forehead between his shoulder blade. 

"Hey, beautiful," Bellamy chuckles, and interlaces his fingers with hers over his heart. "You miss me from all the way over there?”

“Mm, just hungry,” Clarke says and nibbles at his spine, makes him laugh.

“If you can resist cannibalizing me for just a little while longer, I’ll finish this up and we can avoid a grumpy, boyfriend lacking Clarke."

"No rush," Clarke assures him and presses her lips to his skin. "Bellamy, I want to ask you something. A sex something.”

“Oh yeah?” Bellamy hums, voice warm and low as he squeezes her hand again. “Alright, shoot.”

“I'd really like to get you off,” Clarke says delicately and knows immediately she hasn't made herself clear enough because Bellamy just chuckles.

“What? I didn’t take good enough care of you already this morning?” His voice is low and playful and Clarke just loves him so much. “Tell you what, you go get my cock and you can go down on me for as long as you like. Or did you want to get fucked again?”

Clarke nuzzles him. "I mean, that all sounds really good, but… do you think you'd ever let me eat you out?" Bellamy goes a stiff, muscles seizing in surprise and Clarke squeezes his fingers. "Hey, hey, I know," Clarke whispers. "It's just me,” she reminds him and holds him tighter, feels him take a breath and nod. "Yeah," Bellamy croaks and she feels him tremble as he sets down the spatula. "Where is this coming from, babe?" 

Clarke shrugs, leans her cheek against his back twists a bit so she rocks him gently. “You know the way you like to fuck me on your fingers until I feel like I can't breathe? I want to make you feel like that. I want to put my mouth on you and get you off. If you felt comfortable with it, if you wanted to try, I would love to make you fall apart.”

“You suck my cock,” Bellamy reminds her. “You already drive me crazy, Clarke. You don't need to do anything else for me.”

“No, I don't need to,” Clarke agrees, “and if this is a hard No for you, then I don't want to either. But I can't stop thinking about being that close to you. About knowing you that way, and what you'd sound like when I got you off with my tongue.”

“It's not...I’m not,” Bellamy struggles and has to stop and take a breath. But he's trying. He's not shutting her down, he's not putting her off. “I've never let anyone touch my… Touch me there. If someone did… if you did, you might not think of me as me anymore.” His voice is rough, and he pulls Clarke closer to him. “I'm so afraid that I would lose you.”

“Hey, hey,” Clarke whispers and hugs him tighter. “I’m not going anywhere, Bellamy. This part of you," Clarke says as she slides her hand down to rest just above Bellamy's pubic bone without actually cupping him, "this doesn't define who you are. You and I both know that, right?”

Bellamy is quiet for a moment and Clarke butts her head into him. “Hey, right?”

“I know you think that,” Bellamy says softly, “and I believe you mean that, but my last girlfriend…”

His last girlfriend had seen him naked, once, months into their relationship and had messed up his gender pronouns for the first time the next day. That relationship hadn't made it another week. Clarke hurts for Bellamy so much, knowing he has felt let down by his body again and again.

“You're my man, Bellamy,” Clarke says after a moment. “And nothing you were born with or without changes that for me. I love everything about you.” She strokes her fingers over the nearly invisible scars around his pecs. “I know you hate it, Bellamy, god I know, and I don't blame you. But if we could work out a way that me touching that part of you felt ok, I'd really like to try. I don't want you to feel like you have to live in fear of me seeing you or touching you or tasting you and leaving. Because that will never happen.”

“And if I say no?” Bellamy whispers after a long moment and strokes his thumb over her fingers.

“Then you say no and that's that.”

“If we tried it and I didn't like it?”

“We'd stop and talk about it. We'd never do it again if you didn't want to. We would make it okay. You and me? There's no way we wouldn't.”

Bellamy is quite for a long time. And then, almost broken, “And what if I liked it?”

“The you'd be you, a man, who liked it when I licked you there. People have much stranger kinks than getting oral from their girlfriend, Bellamy.” And that makes Bellamy huff a little, surprised. “Would it be so bad, if I made you feel good like that?”

“I don't know,” he admits, and leans his weight back into her, lets her hold him. Clarke continues to sway gently, turning their bodies ever so slightly in that comforting way Bellamy's given her in the past. “Are you…” He starts and struggles in silence for a moment. “Are you not happy with what we do now?”

“Bellamy,” Clarke protests, “I love the sex we have now. I've never been with anyone who gets me the way you do. I don't want any of that to change, really, I just… This could just be an addition to what we do, but only if you liked it. Ok?”

Bellamy nods and then tips his head back against Clarke, rests his curls on top of her head and Clarke turns her head so she can smell him, bury her nose in his hair and let him wash over her. His shampoo is a soft, cool scent, and Clarke can smell his spiced cologne and his natural, richer scent underneath. She feels safe just breathing him in like this, hopes that Bellamy feels the same way with her.

“I don't know how to give you an answer right now,” Bellamy says honestly after a moment. He's cupping both her hands across his chest, keeping her close and Clarke hums in sympathy for all that must be going on in his head.

“That's ok,” Clarke assures him. “I just sprung this on you. If you want to take sometime to think about it, I'm in no rush for an answer.”

"Ok," Bellamy says and gives a heavy sigh. "Let me think about it, ok?" "Of course," Clarke agrees instantly. "Hey,” she says, hooking her chin over his shoulder and nosing at his cheek. “I love you, you idiot.”

Bellamy huffs and turns his head to kiss her, still leaning back into her body. “Yeah, yeah, you jerk. I love you back.”

He readjusts so he can tug her around between him and the counter next to the stove and finds her chin, tips her face up so he can kiss her, rough and possessive the way he loves to because it makes Clarke kiss him back just as fiercely. 

"I'll think on it," he says again when he lets her up. "But now I'm going to burn your breakfast if you don't let me concentrate."

"Well, no one wants that," Clarke snarks and yelps when Bellamy slaps her ass playfully and she leaves him to cook while she showers.

Things remain the same for the next few weeks. Bellamy fucks Clarke with his cock and fingers, watches her hungrily as she blows him. She knows he loves the visual of her lips around his cock, of his cock pushing into her and when Bellamy puts her in front of a mirror for her to see as well, Clarke comes to the sight of her pink cunt clinging to Bellamy's cock as he pulls it slow and lingering from inside her before he fucks back in even harder.

Bellamy gets home one night late after a night out with Miller, and Clarke’s half aware of Bellamy's keys in the door, of the soft sound of his socked feet on the floor, the rustle of him shucking his pants and changing into his sleep shirt. When he crawls into bed with her, trying to be quiet, Clarke rolls across the bed to find him, throwing her bare leg across his. She scratches his head as he nuzzles into her chest, pillowing his head on her tits. "Hey, you," Clarke murmurs sleepily and Bellamy mouths at her through his shirt she wears to bed, finds her nipple and sucks at it, lazy and contented. "Have fun?"

"Yeah," Bellamy chuckles and runs a hand down her stomach and slips it between her legs to find her wet. "Huh, did you get off without me, babe?" He strokes the pad of his thumb over her clit and then presses down, rubs at her.

"Well, when you leave me to my own devices, I really have no choice," Clarke's laughs but moans when Bellamy slips a finger in her, just touching her slow. "That's nice," Clarke sighs. "You always make me feel so good." 

"Mm, you feel so good. God I love how wet you get," Bellamy hums and bites her nipple as he gives her a second finger and smiles at her shiver. He's quiet for a while, just rocks his fingers into her, encouraging her soft gasps and trembling murmurs of his name with low noises, his mouth insistent on her tits. Clarke closes her eyes and keeps her fingers in his hair, let's him take care of her the way he likes. 

Clarke's legs are trembling and she's shifting under him, trying to get him to give her more by spreading her legs when Bellamy rumbles, "I thought about what we were talking about, you remember?" He husks against the wet fabric, his breath warm on her.

"Yeah," Clarke whispers and flexes her hips back against Bellamy's hands, rubs her clit against his palm as he turns his hand for a better angle. "What's um, what's the verdict?"

"I want to try it." Bellamy grinds in harder with his fingers and Clarke arches, whimpering, trying to focus because this is important and damn Bellamy for telling her this when he's got two fingers inside her, crooked just right. He's done it on purpose, must find it easier to tell her this now when he's getting her off, when he feels in control and proud of making her feel good.

“You do?” She manages.

“Yeah. With you, I want to try." Bellamy says and changes his tactic, fucks her faster with his fingers, firmer, and Clarke can't help her breathy little yelp of relief.

"However... However...oh god, fuck Bellamy. You fuck me so good," she whimpers and has to pull him up to kiss her before she can continue, pressing his face into her temple and feeling his low laugh fan over her face as he keeps working her up. "God, however you want, Bellamy." 

“You're so sweet to me, aren't you Clarke?” He laughs and then stills his hand, just twitches his fingers inside her and Clarke whines, tries to rock back against him. “What do you want right now? This? My mouth? My cock?”

“Just this,” Clarke whispers presses her nose into his cheek as Bellamy fills her with his ring finger and resumes fucking her slow again.

“Atta a girl,” Bellamy murmurs as her breath catches as his fingers rub up into her sweetly and he wraps his other arm around her back so he can hold her close and still as she trembles. “That's right, babe. This feels so good, doesn't it? You got it,” he growls and twists his wrist. Clarke agrees on a high, helpless whimper and Bellamy groans.

“Goddamn, nothing's sweeter than how you sound. Clarke, look at me, huh? Let me see your pretty face as I make you come.” He grinds down hard onto her clit and rests his forehead against hers, kisses her with soft lips and tongue until Clarke can only gasp into his mouth and clutch at him, coming in strong, pulsing waves on his fingers. 

He rubs her back as she comes down and lets her curl up next to him, tuck her face into his chest. “Was that good?” He asks her, smug even as he pretends he doesn't know and licks his fingers clean, chuckling when she noses at him, managing a grumble. “Aw, sorry babe, am I not sharing? There you go.” Bellamy touches a finger on her lips and Clarke closes her mouth over it, manages to suck in slow draws, still feeling a little floaty. 

“How's that?” Bellamy murmurs at her, taps down on her tongue. “That what you wanted?” When Clarke looks up at him, still suckling at his finger, he's watching her, eyes intent on her mouth. She bites down, possessive, and he grins. “Ouch.”

Clarke giggles and lets Bellamy reclaim his finger. She lifts her head to kiss him, tastes herself on his lips as well and nips at him so he'll hold the back of her head and kiss her properly. “Um, I'm glad,” she manages when he lets her go, and he cocks his head, questioningly. “About what you decided.”

“Oh yeah?” Bellamy asks and settles back into the pillows, and Clarke sees his expression shift from easy to nervous, a little agitated. She rubs at his chest through his shirt with the flat of her palm and Bellamy rolls his head to look at her. Clarke smiles encouragingly, waiting for his words and Bellamy strokes his fingers along her spine, thoughtful but reassuring. 

“I… there are things I'll need, and things I don't want,” he tells her as finally turns his head and frowns up at the ceiling. Clarke props herself up on an elbow and watches Bellamy’s face through the play of half light and shadows. “When we do this.”

“You want to tell me about them now?” Clarke murmurs and Bellamy nods carefully, swallows.

“I want to fuck you first,” Bellamy says and his voice has a slight tremble to it. “and I...um… I don't want anything inside me, ok?”

“Yeah, of course, Bellamy. Of course.” Clarke drops her lips to his shoulder and gives him hot, open mouthed kisses, the kind she finds make him feel better when he's down. “What else?”

Bellamy takes a careful breath. “I’ll need you to- to touch my cock. I don't think I'll be able to get off if I don't have that. And… And…”

Bellamy is frowning up at the darkness, his face twisted with the difficulty of this conversation and Clarke nuzzles closer and puts her nose into his armpit, inhales him. Bellamy smells musky and good, like clean sweat and man and everything Clarke loves about him. 

“Can you not… Mention it?” Bellamy asks, voice cracking. “Not specific terms anyway,” he clarifies and Clarke nods, curls her fingers into his hair and rubs his scalp. They both usually get each other hot with their words, Bellamy loves to tell Clarke how gorgeous her cunt is, how good she looks, how perfect her tits are, and he always growls and fucks her harder when Clarke tells him how big and hard his cock is, how it feels when it's inside her, how much she loves his body. It's a good clarification and boundary for them to set now before they get into the heat of the moment.

“What else?” Clarke asks and Bellamy is quiet for a long moment before he shakes his head. 

“That's it, I think. I just…” He sighs, sounding exhausted and defeated and Clarke would worry it was about her, about asking for this, but she knows if that's how Bellamy felt, he would have told her. Bellamy wants this too, within his parameters, but he's fighting against years of body dysmorphia and shame, years of feeling betrayed by his body, betrayed by people who tried to make him someone he wasn't because he was born with a cunt and not a cock. To begin to approach his cunt now, as a source of pleasure and intimacy with Clarke must feel overwhelmingly daunting and Clarke is filled with such admiration and love for this man. She wraps her arm over his chest and holds on to him as he sorts out whatever complicated narrative is playing through his head.

“I just need some time,” Bellamy finally says, running his hand down her shoulder, over her elbow and following the line of her arm to find her hand, bringing it up to his shoulder so she'll rub her thumb along the tendons in his neck. “To get used to the idea, I guess.”

Clarke touches two fingers along Bellamy's jaw and presses gently, just so he'll turn his head and look at her. “We can take as long as you need. Really. And if it ever feels like it's going to be too much, we don’t have to do this. I love you Bellamy, just the way you are. You are the best thing I have.”

Bellamy’s eyes flick between Clarke's and she hopes he sees her sincerity and love, knows that he does when she's sees one of those invisible barriers fall, the ones she only notices after the fact because Bellamy's eyes get softer and more open, deeper in their color and the way he looks at her. 

“How'd I find you, huh?” Bellamy wonders and cups her face right back. “How'd I get so lucky to have you love me?” Clarke turns her face into his hand and kisses his palm.

“Because you're you,” Clarke tells him. “You're my person.”

“And you’re mine,” Bellamy answers the call and response that goes deeper than _I love you_ s for them.

Clarke kisses a lingering path across his jaw, up his cheek and finds his lips, fits their mouths together and echoes his contented, deep sigh with her own breath. She feels tension seep from Bellamy's body as he relaxes under her touch and Clarke strokes his face, traces the furrow of his brow to remind him to relax there as well. “My sweet girl,” Bellamy whispers. “I'll need to pick up a new harness. Something that's…” He trails off, face heating a bit under Clarke's touch.

“I still have an old, strappy one, I think,” Clarke murmurs to save him the discomfort. It's a faux-leather one from her vegan days, brown in color and minimal in its look. “We can see if that fits you, if you want.” She crunches up and shimmies out of the shirt she's wearing and flops back down next to him, tugs at the collar of his shirt so he’ll pull it off as well. She loves being pressed up against his skin and Bellamy wraps his arms back around her and kisses lazily at her shoulder.

“Oh yeah? You think I'd look good in it?”

“Definitely. Very hot, you've got the thighs for it,” Clarke grins at him and gives his quad a light slap. “I'll leave it out for you tomorrow, you can see what you think.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy huffs, “Ok.” He pulls at Clarke's hips so that she's lying on her side facing him and lifts her thigh to wrap over his waist so she's pressed right up against the soft bulge of his packer through his boxers he wears to bed. Clarke wiggles against him and slides her arm under her head on the pillow, gives Bellamy a soft smile. 

“Did you want to get off too?” Bellamy shakes his head in answer and strokes his fingers along her thigh.

“I'm good tonight.” He leans forward for just one more kiss and the bumps his forehead against hers. “Sleep well, Clarke.”

“You too, Bellamy,” Clarke whispers and drifts off to the warmth of Bellamy's hand on her thigh and his comforting presence next to her.

She digs her harness out of the closet the next morning while Bellamy is in the shower and leaves it out on the bed for him. She makes toast for them both then swings by the bedroom to kiss Bellamy goodbye before she leaves, laughs when he blows a raspberry into her neck and pinches her side.

Things shift very subtly. Clarke figures Bellamy will let her know when he’s ready and doesn’t want to push the issue so she’s surprised when she wanders past the bathroom door while Bellamy is showering and realizes it’s not locked. It’s still closed, but only just, the door just caught on the doorframe and Clarke almost goes to pull it closed completely, afford Bellamy the privacy he usually needs, but she hesitates. Bellamy knows what he’s doing, is always so careful when it comes to his body and there’s no way this isn’t intentional. It’s so small, such a tiny, seemingly insignificant detail but Clarke recognizes it for the effort it must have taken. She stands in front of the door for a long time, not at all tempted to go in, but just looking at this first step Bellamy is taking to bring himself closer to her.

When he comes out after, carefully dressed as he always is, she pulls Bellamy to her, still damp and hot water flushed, fits her body close to his. She squeezes his soft cock through his jeans and sucks on his bottom lip so that Bellamy's hands grip the curve of her waist hard. 

It's baby steps, really, Bellamy slowly working towards being more comfortable being naked in proximity to Clarke. The bathroom door remains cracked open when he showers, though Clarke makes sure never to go in. One afternoon, Clarke realizes he’s even left the door ajar, the soft cool light from the bathroom window and wisps of shower steam filtering into the hallway.

A few weeks later, Clarke's sitting at her vanity, doing her eyeshadow when she catches sight of Bellamy in the mirror, coming back to their bedroom with nothing but his packing strap slung around his hips. He’s staring at the floor, hard, body clearly tense and Clarke refuses to let herself pause in applying her makeup, doesn’t let herself even look at him, just focuses on blending the pink and gold on her eyelid as she’s half aware of Bellamy pulling on his boxer briefs and slacks behind her. 

It's a test, Clarke knows, not necessarily of her reaction, but of his own comfort level under her eyes. Clarke refuses to stare at him, even though she's wants to drink in the wonderful sight of Bellamy's gorgeous skin, uninterrupted from foot to hip; the thick thatch of dark pubic hair at the apex of his thighs on which his soft cock rests. It’s too soon for her attention: what he needs right now is simply her presence. 

“Did you see I picked up that fancy kind of beer you like?” Clarke asks him, starting on her eyeliner. “I figured you could bring some tonight, play nice with your future brother-in-law.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy manages, voice a little shaky but he takes a slow breath and comes to lean on the back of her chair, meeting her eyes through the mirror. She smiles at him and his expression softens. “Thanks, babe.” He touches her shoulder, fingers curling delicately in her hair, stroking across the black lace of Clarke’s scalloped sleeves, unusually shy. Clarke caps her eyeliner and leans back into him, tilts her head into Bellamy’s chest and looks up at him. From this angle, Bellamy’s sharp jawline is softened as he peers back down at her. “What?” he asks.

“I’m just looking at you,” Clarke hums. “Just looking at my man.”

Bellamy blinks, the rapid, fluttery way he does when something Clarke says overwhelms him. He drops his head down and presses his lips to her forehead, snuffles along her hairline, careful of her makeup. Clarke reaches up to touch his face, the scar on his lip and Bellamy kisses the inside of her wrist, lips lingering. 

He begins to change in their bedroom consistently, his back always purposefully towards Clarke, rushed, but Clarke lets him take his time, doesn’t comment on it, tries not to look at him, but he’s so handsome that she can’t help herself. He catches her one night, eyes lingering on the dip of his lower back, his muscles defined under his skin. Clarke’s eyes snap up to his face and she sees his hesitation. “Looking good,” she offers and winks at him, turns away to pull off her own pants and flops down in her bra and panties on the bed. Bellamy’s lips curl up and he’s got a little smile on his face for the rest of the night as they cuddle up and binge on netflix. Clarke can feel it on his mouth where he’s tucked his chin on her head, fingers tracing sweet patterns into her skin until Clarke falls asleep under his arm, head pillowed on his shoulder.

Clarke lets herself check Bellamy out more often, more obviously after that so he’ll catch her. Bellamy’s got an amazing ass- his glutes toned and round. He turns to find her touching herself one night, just from the sight of his bare ass and half groans, half laughs, then settles between her legs, and nuzzles at her fingers.

“What's this about?” He asks her, breath damp and making Clarke shiver.

“You looked so good, I couldn't resist. You're so hot, Bellamy,” Clarke gasps as Bellamy hums and licks at her between her fingers, tongue quick and wet. She starts to pull her fingers away to let him take over but he shakes his head, catches her hand.

“No, no, you keep going. I'm just here as an assist.” He grins up at her, dark eyes mischievous and then drops them back down to watch the press and grind of her fingers. He slips his tongue inside her while she focuses on her clit, sucks lightly at her labia and then gives her two fingers, not thrusting, but just filling her with something to clench down on. Bellamy pillows his head on her thigh and watches her get off, encouraging her, making her slow down when she gets too close. 

“Easy, easy,” he murmurs to her, gives her the first rock of his fingers so that it distracts Clarke from her fingers’ frantic rub. “Slow, Clarke. Feels so much better when you make it last, huh?”

Clarke whimpers. “It does, Bellamy, it does.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, turns his face into her skin. “Circle your fingers… yeah. Yeah. When I… I like how that feels. When I do that.”

“Oh god,” Clarke gasps, the image of Bellamy touching himself the way she is now, feeling what she’s feeling so shockingly hot that it makes her cunt clench sharply. “Oh my god, Bellamy. What else?”

Bellamy hums, a little shy, a little thoughtful and lips at her thigh, presses a kiss there. “What do you want to hear?”

“Anything,” Clarke whispers a lifts her fingers briefly to brush them over his lips, just saying hello, just feeling him and it makes him smile. “You know I love when you talk to me.”

“Your cunt always looks so good,” Bellamy says, retreating to safer territory. Clarke doesn’t mind at all, drops her fingers back down and listens to Bellamy describe what she looks like speared on his cock, how she feels on his fingers. She keeps her fingers turning in circles like he’s told her, different from the way she usually rubs her clit, and it feels good and new and familiar because that’s how Bellamy usually touches her. The thought that Bellamy touches her knowing that he likes the same movement, wants to give her the same feeling that he gives himself makes Clarke warm and happy, affectionate for the man between her legs even as it’s hard to think through the lust daze of her brain.

When she's drawn it out long enough for his liking, Bellamy leans forward and pushes her fingers out of the way with his nose, covers her clit with his tongue and flicks light and fast at her to make her come.

Some days later, a Sunday afternoon when a lazy make out session gets more intense than intended, Bellamy pulls on his harness and cock, only half turned away from where he's left Clarke on the bed, already flushed and shivering with wanting him. He picks up his vibrator and is about to slip it into his briefs when he pauses and glances at Clarke from under his eyelashes. Clarke sees Bellamy take a breath, steel himself, and the he kneels on the mattress and knee walks his way across the mattress to her. Clarke props herself up on her elbows and leans up to kiss him. 

Bellamy kisses her back as he finds her hand with his own and helps her sit up. “Uh, here,” he whispers when he pulls back from her mouth. Still holding her hand in his, Bellamy presses his vibrator into her palm and then guides it slowly into his boxer briefs. Clarke looks up at his face and sees his eyes are a little wide, his breath a little shallow and fast and she leans forward to kiss at his stomach, warm and soft.

He guides her hand carefully and Clarke feels the brush of his coarse pubic hair and then, briefly, the soft, silky tissue of his labia. He's wet. Clarke looks up at Bellamy in wonder as he helps her to settle the vibrator between his clit and cock, covers her thumb with his own to turn it on, and adjust it to the setting he likes. He gives her hand a squeeze and pulls it out of his briefs. 

Bellamy gives a huge sigh, relieved and releasing tension, and Clarke wraps her arms around his hips and hugs him, cheek pressed into his abs feeling overwhelmed by her love for this man. Bellamy ruffles her hair, let's himself be held like that for a moment and then drops to sit on his heals and pulls Clarke up to kiss him again.

When Clarke presses her palm over his heart, his heart rate is elevated and she slows their kisses, pulls Bellamy down to lie next to her on his side, kissing him until the thump under her fingers has slowed. Bellamy hums into her mouth and drops his hands to her hips, turns her onto her back and then over again so that he can spoon her and slip his cock into her from behind. She sighs and tips her head back against him as he moves in her, languid and easy. His vibrator’s buzz translates though the silicone deep into Clarke and she shivers as he mouths at her neck and cups her tits, thumbs on her nipples, rubbing over the peaked, rosy tips.

“Take me so well,” Bellamy groans as he grinds his hips into her, chasing pressure and vibration.

“Bellamy, fuck, _fuck_ , you're so deep inside me,” Clarke's whines. “I love this, oh please, do you feel how wet I am?”

Bellamy runs a hand down over her belly to touch her cunt and he swears, settles his fingers so that he can feel his cock fucking into her, so that as he thrusts forward, he bumps Clarke's clit into his hand. “So wet,” Bellamy agrees, voice shot. “Shit, Clarke. You're so incredible, can't stand it.”

He fucks her harder, makes her moan with every thrust in, rolls her onto her stomach and spreads her cheeks so he can watch his cock disappear inside her. Clarke buries her face in the pillows and hears her voice go desperately high as Bellamy works out the right angle so that he's sweet and perfect deep in her cunt, making her thrash with how good it is. He fumbles for her vibrator on the night stand and tugs her hips up so he can press it into her clit as well.

Clarke can't stand the vibration of his cock, the vibration on her cunt, his hips snapping into her from behind and the throaty whine he gives as his vibrator settles just right against him. Clarke comes as she imagines him making that sound from her mouth on his clit instead, imagines his delicate, wet cunt under her tongue. It takes her a long time to come back to herself, her orgasm extended by Bellamy working her body just right. 

She feels him shiver behind her as he comes as well and drop his forehead, sweaty against her back. His hands ghost up her sides, scratch lightly at her ribs and Clarke hums, unwilling to move and enjoying the soft vibration of Bellamy inside her, his cock hard and making the aftershocks clenching her cunt feel extra good. It's gets too much for him after a moment though and he clicks his vibrator off, but blankets her body when she makes an unhappy noise as he moves to pull out of her. 

“Alright, babe, alright,” Bellamy husks. “We’ll stay just like this until you're ready.” He dozes against her back and Clarke falls asleep herself, full and contented and not unhappy at all when she wakes up later, the afternoon sun now a honeyed, late evening glow and they go another round: sleepy, in-love sex that makes Clarke's chest ache.

It becomes routine for them: Bellamy getting comfortable being naked around Clarke, letting her watch him pull on his harness, letting her give him his vibrator. Touching Bellamy that way, just a brush of her knuckles over his soft cunt, coming away with just the slightest shine on her fingers as Bellamy’s soft breath that gets more and more relaxed each time she does it makes Clarke ache for him like nothing else. She likes to kneel up after, pull Bellamy’s bare chest against her breasts and kiss him open mouthed and slow. 

Sometimes she’ll press her hand against his vibrator and work it over his cunt slowly, likes how his breath catches and how he hides his face in her neck when he lets her go for a while. He’ll trail his fingers up and down her back and tangle them in her hair, just touch her and reassure himself that she’s there while she rocks her hand against him. She never goes long enough to make him come, but she loves when she hears him grunt at a particularly good grind of his vibrator against his clit. God, it gets Clarke wet so that when Bellamy sinks his fingers into her or pushes her back on the bed and fucks into her she can feel the wet slide of him against her thighs where her labia has rubbed her arousal. It makes them both crazy.

It bleeds over into their lives beyond sex, this new, sweet, careful intimacy between them. Bellamy likes to pull her into his lap in the evenings, just hold on to her when they’re watching tv or reading, hand working gently over Clarke’s scalp, rubbing just hard enough with his finger tips that Clarke loses focus on whatever it was she was doing and lets her eyes fall closed, lost in Bellamy’s touch and low voice. He’s sweeter on her, wraps his arms around her from behind when she’s reading on the couch and makes her laugh with stupid jokes. 

They’re cooking together one night, a rare occurrence when their shifts allow them to be home for dinner at the same time, and Clarke’s set the radio to scan to find something ridiculous to listen to. They’ve settled on some country station, oddly fitting for the rain lashing against the windows, and the warm white glow from the lights they’ve draped over the door frame to run along the kitchen ceiling moulding, a deep voice from the radio with twangy guitar and drum kit set wrapping it all close together. Bellamy is trying to get to Clarke to tell him what Octavia’s gotten him for his birthday and Clarke is laughing into the pot of boiling pasta water. 

“Aw, come on, Clarke,” Bellamy tries to say with a straight face but a grin is pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I gotta know. Octavia always got me the ugliest sweaters growing up. I gotta know if I have to pretend to love it.”

“You’re going to love it no matter what she gets you,” Clarke laughs. “If it’s from Octavia, it means you automatically do. You’d love it if she got you a brick and painted your name on with nailpolish.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy laughs. “You know she did that one our walkway growing up, once. I think it’s still there, both our initials.”

“Oh yeah?” Clarke grins up at Bellamy as he offers her a piece of chopped red pepper. She takes it from his fingers and can’t help the soft thrum of arousal in her stomach when his thumb brushes against her lips from habit, such an affectionate sweet gesture. “How old was she?”

“Oh… maybe four. Just learned how to spell our names, but you know, big and messy like little kids write. So all she could fit was ‘O.B.’ on one brick and on the one next to it, ‘I.B’.”

“That’s so sweet,” Clarke murmurs and glances at Bellamy. She knows that even when he was younger, ‘Isabella’ had never felt like his name. 

“When I came out,” Bellamy says, the smile on his mouth soft, “And O helped me pick my name, I remember she made me go outside that same day, and she’d gone back over it, she'd gone to the CVS down the street to get the same exact color, and changed the ‘I’ to a ‘B’.”

Clarke puts down the wooden spoon and reaches for Bellamy’s hand. He looks up in surprise and then lets her intertwine their fingers, head cocked. “I love that story,” Clarke tells him and Bellamy’s smile grows to a grin. 

“It was a good day,” Bellamy admits and then pulls Clarke close to him so that he can wrap an arm around her waist and sway with her to the music. It’s still cheesy country music, something upbeat about love and it makes a good song to dance to. Bellamy pulls her away from the stove so they have more room to move together. He gives her a twirl and Clarke’s socked feet spin easily on the linoleum floor; she’s laughing as Bellamy draws her back in again and kisses her neck.

“So you going to tell me?” He prompts her, digging his thumb into Clarke’s side so that she’s wriggling against him, trying to get away from his tickling. “Come on, babe, tell me what Octavia got me.”

“No, I can’t,” Clarke gasps in between giggles. “She made me promise, Bellamy.” Clarke buries her face into his neck, wraps her arms tighter around his neck and Bellamy takes pity on her, lets up on her side and instead rubs his palm over her ribs soothingly.

“Alright, alright. I won’t make you go back on your promise,” he relents and then holds her closer as well, sliding his arms around her lower back so that he can still palm her sides. Clarke hums contentedly and rocks with Bellamy to the new song that comes on, guitar electric and mellow.

It’s one Bellamy recognizes apparently, because he huffs in laughter and hums along with the deep male vocals. Clarke likes the sound of his voice, even though he’s a terrible singer when he actually does try, but his low pitched voice in her ear is one of Clarke’s favorite sounds. Makes her feel like she’s right where she’s supposed to be.

“Can’t believe how much it turns me on,” Bellamy half speaks, half husks along with the chorus, “just to be your man.” 

Clarke hugs him tighter and then yelps when he dips her and kisses her, and Clarke kisses him back just as fiercely. They dance through the rest of the song, Bellamy making Clarke laugh and completely forgetting about watching the pasta so that it ends up too soggy to eat. 

It doesn’t matter though, Bellamy picks Clarke up and puts her on their empty kitchen counter, fingers her deep and slow with two, then three fingers, his wrist turning maddeningly slow until her thighs are shaking and her voice has gone all pitchy with whining his name. He leans into her leg and rocks slowly against her thigh, getting friction against her shin. 

Dinner, in the end, is hastily made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches eaten on the kitchen floor. Clarke throws her legs over Bellamy’s hips and sits close between his thighs, leaning into his chest and letting him steal extra bites of her sandwich because he likes the crusts of bread and she likes watching him eat. He tastes like peanut butter, after, when they make out in the hallway, too handsy with each other to make it to their bedroom, before Clarke finally drags him with her into their room and onto the bed. 

Bellamy grabs his harness and changes right there on the bed next to her as Clarke kisses his chest and stomach. She feels the strong muscles of his thighs under his palms, squeezing at him hotly as he reaches to grab his vibrator where he’d left it out on the bedside table yesterday. 

“You want to?” he asks, offering it to her even as he tilts her head up so he can kiss her hot and deep, tongue slick against her own. 

“Yeah, here,” Clarke murmurs, taking it from him but tugging him closer so that he’s kneeling between her splayed legs, his hand squeezing at the back of her neck as she breaks away from his mouth and kisses at his abs. She hesitates, and then looks up at Bellamy and very slowly slips her left hand into his harness, vibrator still held in her right.

Bellamy takes a measured breath but doesn't stop her, lets her fingers move gently down before Clarke very carefully cups his cunt. He doesn't do much with his pubic hair except keep it neat and clean, and Clarke parts his lips with her fingers and just touches him, feeling his labia, so soft in contrast to the wiry hair around it it. Clarke watches Bellamy's expression, attentive to the minute shifts, his closed eyes, his concerned brow. She keeps her fingers gentle and slow, gathers the slick wetness, slides her fingers up to catch and press lightly on Bellamy's clit. 

His breath stutters and Clarke hums in encouragement, rubs her fingers against it again, just in small circles like Bellamy does to her and Bellamy’s breath hitches. He grasps at her shoulders, fingers shaking and Clarke nuzzles at him.

“Does that feel okay?” she whispers into his skin and Bellamy has to clear his throat.

“Uh, yeah. It’s okay,’” he murmurs back and Clarke stills her fingers, cups him just for a moment longer, loving the way he feels right there against her hand, before she pulls her left hand free, and grips the head of Bellamy's cock while she places his already buzzing vibrator. 

Bellamy's arousal is sharp in the air and Clarke rubs it into the silicone of his cock and then whispers his name so he'll look at her, closes her lips around the head. She can't help her moan at the way he tastes, musky and so good, dark and cool just the way he smells. Clarke sucks hungrily at his cock until she can't taste him anymore, then deep throats him and flicks her eyes up to his face and whines as he talks to her and thrusts a bit down her throat.

“So fucking hot. God, Clarke,” he growls at her even as his hands are soft in her hair. “Look at you suck me off.”

Bellamy crawls into bed with her one night when she's half asleep already, just home from the late shift at the bar, while she has the early shift at the hospital. When she snuggles up to him she realizes he's gone without boxers, the soft spongy cyber skin of his cock right there against her ass. And more than that, the heat of his skin.

“Oh, hey,” she murmurs and turns her head to kiss him. “I like this.”

“Oh yeah?” Bellamy chuckles but she can hear a little anxiety laced through it. “This is good?”

“This is great,” Clarke whispers and wriggles her fingers behind her and in between them so she can brush her thumb along the soft seam of his hip and thigh, curl her fingers around his cock. She loves all his pubic hair right there, tickling her fingers “I like feeling you right here, this close to me. How are you doing with it?”

“I'm good. This right now, this is nice.” Clarke’s smile hurts her face and and she pulls his arm across her waist, wiggles further back against him so she can get the long, naked line of Bellamy's body along hers. She sighs, huge and content and feels so close to him.

“You sound happy,” Bellamy hums into her neck and rubs his lips against her shoulder, chapped skin catching ever so slightly.

“I am,” Clarke whispers. “I'm so happy you feel comfortable doing this with me. I just… I can't tell you how much I love you.” She lifts his hand to her mouth and kisses his palm and each of his fingers. 

Bellamy hums, hides his face in the nape of her neck. “I'm an idiot with how much I love you,” Bellamy whispers back. “You're my person.”

“And you're mine.”

Even with Bellamy's growing comfort around her, Clarke's almost lost sight of the original goal they're working toward, because yeah, as much as she really does want to get her mouth on his cunt and make him feel good, have him come from her touching him and feeling safe that she knows exactly who he is, it's become so much more than that. There's a new level of intimacy that's grown between them, a new trust on both their parts, a new love, a new tenderness. It's not by any means banished the years of ingrained dysmorphia Bellamy's dealing with, but he lets Clarke closer to him, let's her understand it better, and because of that, slowly the shame lessens.

And for all that, Clarke isn't expecting it when she looks up one evening from the couch, flopped on her stomach, reading a magazine while Bellamy's been folding laundry in the bedroom, and finds him watching her from the doorway. They’d gone out that afternoon, spread a blanket on the grass down by the National Mall and lain in the sun together. Their day echoes in Clarke’s head now, their laughter, their kisses, Bellamy’s grin and his hands sneaking under her shirt to touch the skin on her hips, their peace with one another. 

Bellamy looks like he's been in the doorway for a few moments, looks like he's working up the courage to say her name. He's got his undershirt on and his regular boxers, but underneath that, Clarke can see the hard line of his cock where he's tucked it to the side, and where his undershirt rides up, the brown straps of her old harness. 

Bellamy meets her eyes, shy under his long eyelashes and Clarke scrambles up so quickly that she loses her balance and nearly face plants in the couch cushions. “Yeah?” She asks.

“Yeah,” Bellamy replies, lips twitching in amusement at how uncool she is. “If you're up for it.”

“I really am,” Clarke says and the slows herself down, takes a breath.

She crosses the room to him, his warm skin made richer, darker by the pink of the sunset, his freckles smattered across his face, and for a moment, all Clarke can think to want is to be held by him. She wraps her arms around his waist and fits her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder, curls her hands in his shirt. Bellamy smells like fresh laundry and shampoo and himself and Clarke breathes him in deeply and holds him tighter. Bellamy makes a soft, sweet sound and hugs her tight right back against him. He's got an arm curled around the small of her back, his other around her shoulders, his hand in her hair and Clarke closes her eyes against the sunset and just feels Bellamy against her. He's leans back against the doorframe, scrunches his fingers through her hair and murmurs something, not words, Clarke thinks, but a soft question and Clarke snuggles closer to him and hums. 

She's not sure how long they stay there, happy and safe in each other's spaces but Clarke feels like she's glowing when Bellamy lifts his head from where he's leant it against her own and cups her jaw, guiding her up so he can kiss her in the last glimmers of the sun, the sky outside purple now.

“What do you think, gorgeous? You want to get fucked?”

Clarke laughs in little breathy exhales against his face and scrunches her nose up at him. “When have I ever said no to that?” She asks and Bellamy's grin is sharp. 

“That's what I thought,” Bellamy chuckles and keeps her face close for one more kiss, a long deep one that reminds Clarke of the way he kissed her on the first night they met, but there's so much more to them now, so much love and trust and knowledge that it's a million times better. “Alright, alright,” Bellamy laughs as he lets her go and Clarke still nuzzles at his jaw, seeking his mouth, “I'll kiss you all you want once you get on that bed, huh?”

Clarke rolls her eyes but catches Bellamy’s hand and walks with him back down the hall to their room. He’s made their bed, since this morning, fluffed the pillows and changed the sheets. The window is cracked and the soft night breeze makes the old curtains on the windows whisper. Bellamy drops his head and nuzzles at Clarke’s neck when she pauses to just take in their room, their home. 

“What’s up, beautiful girl?”

“Nothing. Come on.” She steps out of her dress and leaves it pooled on the floor, clambers onto their bed in her underwear because she knows Bellamy likes the sight of her tits in this bra, that her dark blue boy shorts with the lace over her ass are his favorite pair. Sure enough, Bellamy groans as he follows her, keeps her from rolling over onto her back as he catches her hips. 

“Shit, Clarke. You look so hot. Ass up, babe. Let’s get a look at you.” Clarke snorts, but braces herself on her forearms and cants her hips back and up. Bellamy runs his hands over her lace covered skin, large and warm, and squeezes her. “Nothing’s hotter than you,” he husks and his lips ghost across her, giving her wet slow kisses that make Clarke’s clit throb.

Clarke wiggles back against him. “Bellamy,” she complains, when he stills her movements and keeps kissing her just as slow, a lazy across her ass. He bites her when she wiggles again, sinking his teeth in and Clarke moans. “Okay, okay,” she laughs a little breathless. “You’re in charge. You got me.”

“You’re damn right, I do,” Bellamy murmurs as he carefully slips his large fingers under the waistband of her panties and draws them over the curve of her ass, down her legs. “You gonna let me make you come, Clarke? You’re wet for it, babe. Lemme give it to you, huh? Let me taste how sweet your cunt is.”

“Yeah, make me come, Bellamy,” Clarke whispers, dropping her head into the pillows. She loves when Bellamy eats her out from behind, how fierce the sight of her open to him like this makes him. Clarke whimpers when Bellamy gives her a long flat lick. He gets messy about it, keeps her thighs spread wide as he sucks at her, fucks her with his tongue and then with his fingers, bumps his nose into her clit and then works his tongue on it, lazy and soft and wet so that Clarke pushes her hips back into him, whining, seeking more pressure. 

“Yeah, babe, you like this?” Bellamy growls into her and Clarke agrees in between gasps.

“Fuck, Bellamy. You take such good care of me. God, your mouth.”

“That’s right, Clarke. I’m going to fuck you. You want to come on my cock?”

“Oh please, yes,” Clarke moans. On some level, she knows Bellamy is posturing a bit, reaffirming his masculinity, reassuring himself that this dynamic between them, his ability to take care of Clarke and get her off with his fingers and mouth and cock, is still what she wants. It’s what he needs to do to feel more comfortable going into the next part, the part where Clarke gets to make him come. 

Clarke shivers with the thought of it and suddenly needs to see him, see Bellamy above her. She twists in his hands and Bellamy lets her go, lets her roll onto her back and spread her legs for him. She drops her fingers to her clit and rubs a bit, sighs at how wet Bellamy’s gotten her. 

“Can I see your cock?” She asks, circles her fingers on clit slowly and Bellamy’s eyes snap up to hers from where he’s watching her fingers. 

“Greedy girl,” Bellamy chuckles but Clarke sees him take a breath, a little tense, and she slows her fingers so she can be there for him, however he needs her. He pulls off his undershirt and the soft glow of their bedroom light plays across his hard abs, his pecs, his dark nipples. Clarke pushes herself up and scoots down on her butt so that she can kiss his shoulders, his chest, nip at him. 

“Love your body,” she tells him. “Just the sight of you turns me on, Bellamy.” He fits a hand on the back of her head and holds her close to him as she kisses him. Clarke reaches to his boxers and squeezes his cock, gives it a gentle tug so he can feel her working it. 

“You want that?” Bellamy husks and Clarke looks up at him, face still pressed into his sternum. He pushes his hips forward into her and Clarke rubs her palm along the length of his dick, fingers ghosting along his thigh as well. “You want me to fuck you with my cock?”

“So much,” Clarke whispers. “I’m so wet for you, Bellamy.” 

Bellamy chokes and reaches down to feel her again, slides his fingers along her cunt, touches her thighs which are slick too. “Fuck, Clarke, you are. That’s so hot, huh? Lie back, babe. Lie back for me.”

Clarke flops back down and grins as Bellamy watches her tits bounce. She arches to undo the clasp of her bra, and as she pulls it away, Bellamy palms her tits. His hands are warm and he squeezes her gently, tugs at her nipples so that Clarke shudders and lifts her hips, seeking his thigh to grind against as he touches her. “I know,” Bellamy rumbles. “Don’t have to worry, I’m going to take care of you.”

Bellamy’s hands leave her and Clarke opens her eyes, watches as his hands hesitate for a moment at the waistband of his boxers and then with a breath, determined, Bellamy pushes them down. His cock bobs of from where it’s been trapped against his thigh and Clarke has to catch her breath, because god, she was right. The dark brown straps cross against Bellamy’s hips and around his thighs, the silver clasps cool accents against the warm tone of his skin. It makes his cock look bigger from where it juts from the o-ring, and beneath it, Bellamy’s cunt is bare. 

Bellamy looks up at her, and Clarke reaches for him. 

“So hot,” Clarke murmurs as she tugs him down to kiss her. “God, you look amazing. Do you like it?”

“It’s an adjustment,” he admits, words just a breath against her lips and Clarke kisses him again. “But I’m good,” he assures her. Clarke strokes her fingers along his face, touches his lips and smiles at him, sweet for a moment in the midst of their play. 

“I love you so much,” Clarke tells him. She runs her hands down his sides, curves them up on his back and down over his bare ass. He feels so good under her hands and Clarke traces his hips around to his stomach, brushes her hand along his cock. “Can I touch you?” she asks him softly.

Bellamy nods, a jerky, brief motion and Clarke reassures him with a kiss, slips her fingers down through his pubic hair and rests her hand against his cunt. She lifts her middle finger to press along his labia and his clit and her breath catches at finding him wet. It’s still so exciting, feeling the tangible, biological proof of Bellamy’s desire for her. 

“You feel good,” Clarke whispers and Bellamy ducks his face into her neck. Clarke gives him a one more press of her hand upward, just a little friction, a promise for what she wants to do to him later and she feels Bellamy’s stomach jump before she slowly pulls her hand away from him and slides it up to wrap around his cock. “Come fuck me, Bellamy.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. “Ok.” He shifts so that he can brace himself above her and slips an arm under her thigh lifting it to hold in the crook of his elbow as Clarke guides his cock to her cunt and flexes her hips up to slide him in.

“Oh fuck,” Clarke breathes as Bellamy nudges his hips forward, eyes hot and fixed on where he’s filling her. “Oh my god, Bellamy. Your cock feels so good.” She rocks back against him, moans as he continues his slow, careful movement into her, soft thrusts that feel perfect but take so long to fill her up the way she wants. 

“How does that feel?” Bellamy asks when he bottoms out, still holding her thigh up and away so he can watch. He rubs his other thumb over her clit and Clarke arches, eyes squeezed closed. 

“Amazing,” she whispers. “I love how big you are, how deep you get in me. I- _oh_ ,” she moans as Bellamy pulls back and pushes forward again, still so torturously slow, but so good. Clarke loses her train of thought as Bellamy works her carefully, just slow, deep thrusts into her, thumb on her clit giving her practised circles, soothing and nice, not hard enough to drive her crazy, just making her feel good.

“Keep talking, Clarke,” Bellamy urges her after a moment. “Please, keep talking.”

Clarke blinks up at him, and tries to focus. “Your cock, Bellamy, it’s so, oh, _yes_ ,” she whimpers as Bellamy bottoms out in her and then circles his hips. He’s so close to her that Clarke can feel the hair around his cunt and it makes her a little stupid. “I love how you fuck me with it,” she manages, “You’re so good to me. God, so, so… so…” Bellamy presses down with his thumb just a bit harder and Clarke breaks off on a sigh. 

“Your cunt looks so good, Clarke. You’re so wet. All flushed and pink for me and my cock,” Bellamy tells her and pulls back again to keep thrusting into her. “Look at the way you take me, so good for me.”

“Yeah, Bellamy,” Clarke whimpers. She settles her fingers on her nipples and pulls at them, rolls them and gasps as Bellamy matches the movement of his thumb on her clit to her fingers. “Oh god, how are you so big?” She moans when Bellamy gives her a sudden, hard thrust and it jolts Clarke up the bed. “Fuck, yeah. Fuck me like that,” Clarke begs.

Instead, Bellamy pulls back and Clarke whines at the loss as he pulls free of her, her cunt achingly empty. “You’re alright, beautiful, you’re alright,” Bellamy soothes her and slips a hand under her back, leveraging her up. “Just gonna ride me, how about that?”

He laughs as Clarke struggles to help, eager to get him back inside her and he turns on the bed, scoots back so he can lean against the headboard. “Up you go,” he says and pulls Clarke into his lap, helps her get her knees under her. Clarke sinks down onto him with a sigh and grips at his shoulders. They’re so strong under her hands and she works herself up and down his cock, leaning back and spreading her thighs so Bellamy can watch. Bellamy returns his thumb to her clit, rubs harder at her, runs his other hand up to palm her tits again.

“Look at you bounce,” he breaths, a little awed, voice rough with arousal and Clarke loves, it works herself harder on him so that he groans at the sight of her, of how her cunt swallows his cock. He fills her so perfectly, grinds up so right inside of her that Clarke feels her orgasm coming on fast, barely manages to gasp out Bellamy’s name, but he understands. He pulls her close again and catches her lips to kiss her through it, thumb rubbing harder at first, but once she goes over, softening to a gentle, light touch.

“Good girl,” he breathes as she shakes against him. “So fucking beautiful.” He slouches under her and holds her even as he slides down the bed so that she can collapse more comfortably across his chest. Clarke turns her nose into his armpit and smells him, lets his scent ground her as she slowly comes back into her body, to his hands on her back, his hard cock inside her. 

She pushes herself up and leans into him for another kiss. “Always make me feel so good,” she tells him and Bellamy sighs, happy with the praise. She strokes his curls off of his forehead and ducks to kiss him again, makes it lazy and a little sloppy, mouths soft. Bellamy runs his hands up and down her back, justing the slightest hint of his short nails. 

“How are you feeling?” Clarke asks as she draws back from kissing him. “What do you want?”

Bellamy hums and drops his eyes from hers for a moment before looking back up at her, determined but still shy. “If you wanted to go down on me. On my… on me. I’d like to feel your mouth.” 

“Yes, of course,” Clarke whispers. “I would love to.” She kisses Bellamy again, reassuring and rocks a bit against his cock still inside her. She lifts herself off and stretches out next to him. Bellamy’s body goes a little stiff again and he’s staring up at the ceiling, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Hey,” Clarke calls softly. “Bellamy, we’re going to go slow, ok? And we can stop at any point, right?” Bellamy’s eyes find her and he nods slowly. “We still good with what we talked about?” Clarke asks, careful not to touch him yet. “No penetration and I’ll touch your cock while we do this?”

“Yeah, please,” Bellamy croaks. 

“Ok,” Clarke says and leans forward to kiss him again. They make out a little while longer, until Bellamy’s breath gets a little stuttery as Clarke brushes her thumbs over his nipples and sucks on his tongue. She brushes her hand lower down his body, strokes over his stomach and curls her fist around the base of his cock briefly before she slides her hand lower once more. The thatch of hair around Bellamy’s cunt is sticky and wet with his arousal and Clarke brushes her knuckles through it before she very carefully settles her hand, resting lightly over the lips of his cunt. 

Bellamy’s breath catches against her lips and Clarke lifts her head so she can look at his face, smiles as she presses down and rubs the flat of her hand against him, easy pressure and friction, familiar to rubbing against his vibrator. “How’s this?” 

“Um,” Bellamy manages, blinking a bit. “Good. It’s… good.” He takes a slow breath and then tips his hips up into her hand a little bit. Clarke can’t help but kiss him again, reward that quiet request for more. 

She slides herself down his body, but not between his legs. She thinks Bellamy having to spread his legs to her, to open his cunt to her might be too much just yet. She leans over his hips instead and licks at the tip of his cock, feeling his eyes on her. Bellamy’s breath catches as she spreads her fingers on his cunt and catches his labia, getting better access to his clit. She works her middle finger over him, a soft circle with her fingertip, and feels him get wetter at her touch. 

“I like this,” she tells him, “Bellamy, I love how you feel.”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything above her, just nods a bit and Clarke drops her head from his cock to kiss at his hip bones and stomach. She mouths her way back up his cock, making eye contact with him as she keeps moving her fingers over him and Bellamy’s breath shivers from him. She watches his fingers curl into the sheets next to him. 

“Clarke,” he whispers and Clarke stills her hand on him. “Oh no,” he stutters, “no, it’s… would you keep going?”

“Yeah, Bellamy. I got you,” Clarke says gently, and runs her mouth down the v of his thighs, lets him know she’s coming. His smell is sharp here, heady and rich and Clarke feels so eager for him, eager to lick him, suck on his clit, get him on her face. She shifts, draping herself over his thigh so that she can get a better angle and she slides her middle finger from Bellamy’s clit to spread him open a little more. His cunt is beautiful and Clarke wishes she could tell him that. It’s darker in color than her own and his labia are a little larger than hers, his clit as well. And he’s so slick, wet from what he’s done to her and what she’s doing to him. 

“Oh, you look so good,” Clarke tells him, can’t help herself. “Ready for my mouth?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy breathes, his hand scatting down the mattress to find hers and she grips him, interlaces their fingers. 

Clarke takes a breath and then closes the distance between them and gives him her tongue. It makes Bellamy jolt, the first, slick contact of her tongue against his cunt. And he tastes so good, Clarke moans with it and it makes Bellamy’s breath catch, his fingers squeeze hers. Clarke gives him kitten licks, lets him get used to this, over his labia, between them, around the hood over his clit, and then, as tenderly as she knows how, on his clit directly. 

“Fuck,” Bellamy swears. “Fuck, Clarke.”

Clarke moves their interlaced hands to Bellamy’s cock, slides her hand from his and pumps her hand up and down his dick, the same slow rhythm she’s started on his clit, long, purposeful licks matched with long glides of her hand. Bellamy’s shaking hand covers hers on his cock, not guiding her but feeling the rhythm of it, along for the ride. 

“Would you…” Bellamy starts and when Clarke looks up at him, his eyes are squeezed tightly shut, mouth twisted a little, not the expression of someone who’s only feeling pleasure, but his hips are lifting into her face, his thighs trembling and Clarke doesn’t want to call attention to whatever it is he’s battling against. “Would you suck on it?”

Clarke closes her lips over his clit and gives him a gentle draw of her mouth, pressing closer and sighing as his arousal coats her chin. She tugs his clit between her lips and works her tongue in small circles over it and Bellamy arches, breath punched from his lungs and he groans for her. 

“Yeah, Bellamy,” Clarke whispers against his cunt. “There you go.” 

Bellamy likes to draw it out when he goes down on her, get her close to the edge and then keep her there, tease her until she begs him to make her come, but Clarke doesn’t think Bellamy is anywhere near ready for her to do that with him. This is about making him feel good, feel happy and safe with her, and as much as Clarke feels like she could spend an eternity here, getting to know this part of Bellamy’s body that he hasn’t allowed anyone else near, this is already more than enough for Clarke. His taste in her mouth, the sight of him flushed and shaking, the slick arousal on her chin and lips: it’s beautiful. Clarke nuzzles back into him, sucks slow and certain at his clit, rubs her fingers at his outer lips for a little more pressure and sensation. 

“Oh shit,” Bellamy gasps, voice weak above her. “Oh god, Clarke. Babe, babe…”

“Keep going?” Clarke asks, lifting her head, mindful of how intense it can get. She slows her hand on his cock but Bellamy tightens his grip on her and increases the speed of her strokes. 

“Please,” Bellamy chokes. “Clarke, your lips…”

Clarke presses a kiss to his thigh and then sets her mouth back over him, inhales him and rubs her tongue across his clit, makes it broad and flat and hums so he gets the vibration of it. Bellamy jerks and the noise he makes is the best thing Clarke’s ever heard, trembling and overwhelmed and just what she wanted to here. She’s doing this to Bellamy, driving him crazy with how good she’s eating him out and she feels a little overcome with his trust in her. She feels more than ever the pang in her chest for Bellamy’s isolation, that this simple act, that her love for him manifesting this way, is foreign to him.

It doesn’t take much more. Just Clarke’s lips and her tongue and the hot suction she gives him and Bellamy comes with his whole body locking up, his hand squeezing tight over hers on his cock. He gets wetter as he does and Clarke gives him some relief from his over sensitive clit and laps him up.

She doesn’t let herself linger too long at his cunt, knows from Bellamy’s uneven breath that he’s feeling overwhelmed and with a last kiss to his clit, she slides up his body and drapes herself over him. Bellamy’s arms close vice-like around her and he crushes her against him.

“You’re okay,” Clarke whispers into his skin. “My brave man, you’re okay.” Bellamy’s breath catches in his chest and Clarke looks up at him, notes the tears on his cheeks and rolls to the side, pulls at Bellamy until he curls into her tucks his face into her breasts. Clarke strokes his hair, rubs gently at the back of his neck and Bellamy calms himself with slow, deep breaths which Clarke matches with him

“That was,” Bellamy says after a little while, voice muffled by her body. “That was… you made me feel so good, Clarke.”

Clarke wraps her arms around Bellamy’s head and presses him closer. “I loved doing that for you,” she tells him. “Everything about you is so amazing, Bellamy.”

Bellamy makes a noise into her and wraps his arms around her. Clarke’s not sure how long they lay there, just holding each other, hands slow on each other’s skin, but eventually Bellamy lifts his head, and looks up at her. 

“How you doing?” Clarke asks, cupping his jaw and guiding him up for a kiss. Bellamy’s lips are slow against hers and he falters a bit at his taste on her mouth, but then kisses her more insistently. 

“I’m good,” Bellamy says. “It brought up a lot. But… You’re good at that. And I liked that you liked it so much.”

“I did,” Clarke admits, and can’t help her grin when Bellamy presses his nose into her face. “Is it something you want to try again?”

“I think so,” Bellamy says. “Not right away. And not all the time, I think. But I do like when you touch me there.” Clarke slides her hand down to rest over him again, thinks about how she feels when Bellamy rubs his face into her stomach or squeezes her hips, the soft, rounded parts of her that she sometimes wishes were flatter. Her loving on Bellamy’s cunt must feel a thousand times more intense to him. 

“You just let me know,” Clarke says and then, after giving Bellamy another squeeze, goes to take a quick shower. She misses him, while she quickly rinses off, and wraps herself extra tight around him when they’re both in bed again, clean and on fresh sheets, and murmuring little, presleep affections at one another. 

Bellamy’s arms are strong and tight around her and Clarke holds him back just as closely, lifts her head for a final kiss goodnight. From the way his mouth moves over hers, slow and sweet and lingering, Clarke would bet he’s feeling what she is: love and connection and endless, impossible hope about them that stretches out ahead.

It’s not something they do all that often in the end. Bellamy still likes his briefs and boxer harnesses, still likes to get himself off while Clarke sucks his cock, or wears his vibrator while they fuck. But that’s ok, because it’s what works for them, and so much has changed already. Bellamy continues to keep changing in their room, less concerned about putting his back to Clarke now. He lets her place his vibrator for him, lets her lick his fingers clean after he gets off and sometimes, when he’s feeling brave or having a good day, or wants to feel closer to Clarke, she goes down on him. 

Bellamy sticks his head into the bathroom one morning while Clarke is showering and she cocks her head out from behind the shower curtain, curious. Just like she gives him his space when he’s showering, he tends to respect hers. “What’s up?” She asks, lathering conditioner up in her hands. 

“Can I join you?” Bellamy asks, and his voice is casual even though his eyes are a little wild, a little wide with anxiety. 

Clarke smiles at him and ducks back behind the curtain to give him privacy. “Yeah, of course, Bellamy.” She tries to keep her voice even, tries to make this as easy and seemingly routine for Bellamy as possible, but she can’t help the flutter of her stomach, thrilled and warmed at the thought of Bellamy pressed up against her in the shower, body soapy and wet. 

It takes a minute, but as Clarke works the conditioner into her hair there’s the soft rustle of the shower curtain behind her, a breath of cool air, and then Bellamy’s arms wrap around her waist and his head drops to her shoulder. “Hey,” Clarke whispers, leaning back into him. She realizes, as her ass fits into the cradle of his hips, he’s not wearing his packer. He doesn’t pack in the shower.

“Can I help?” Bellamy murmurs into her skin and Clarke nods, lets her hands fall away from her hair and Bellamy slides his own up her body presses his thumbs into her neck and then gently rubs his fingers across her scalp, working the conditioner in. Clarke sighs and tips her head forward, easy in the warmth of the shower steam and Bellamy’s sure hands. 

“Okay, turn around,” Bellamy says, and Clarke does, lets him guide her back under the water, lift her chin and cup his hand over her forehead to keep any soap or water from getting in her eyes. He combs his other hand through her hair again, gently working through tangles as he finds them, helps the spray of the shower get all of the conditioner out. When he’s satisfied he tugs her forward and Clarke goes, wraps her arms around his middle and holds him. 

Clarke will always love Bellamy’s cock, his soft packer or his silicone one, but there is something so intimate about holding him like this, all living skin and flesh and parts of him laid bare that he would rather didn’t exist. 

“Can you tell me?” Bellamy mumbles into her wet skin after a little while, face tucked into hers.

“You’re my man,” Clarke says immediately, lips on his freckled shoulders. “And you’re my person.”

“And you’re mine.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are always so appreciated. Seriously, they make my day :)
> 
> If there's anything in this piece you'd like to discuss with me, come find me on [tumblr](http://verbam.tumblr.com)! My askbox is always open.


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